From Freak to God
by Akallas von Aerok
Summary: Or Why Drugs are Bad for Wizards. As an orphan, Harry had to make ends meet. The orphanage certainly couldn't afford to do it for him, so he took on a job with a local drug dealer. It was a simple job. Help the dealer package drugs to be shipped. Of course, a simple job is not really that simple if the drug in question is ... quite nefarious and absurdly dangerous.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

Harry frowned.

Today, he had been told to work in the sweatshops.

He hated working there, but what could he do?

He was an orphan like many others. No one wanted them and no one would buy them food. So he, like others, had found work.

It wasn't a fun one nor a good one.

No one liked working for the gangsters, and most people working under them didn't appreciate having to work for them. No one especially liked working for the Blue York Gang. Yes, they were "humane" as gangs go. Yes, they hired orphans when no one else would. Their work was hard. It was harsh.

However, there was no threat to his life or his continued existence.

So Harry pressed down on the desire to complain.

Complaining wouldn't get him anything. In fact, it might lose him the only job -the only lifeline- he had to survival.

He grumbled mentally as he put on his t-shirt and pair of nylon short pants before heading out to the sweatshops.

Just another day at work.

He jumped down to the bedroom floor with a soft thud only a child could make. He disregarded the still sleeping roommates of his and left the room.

* * *

It took him about half an hour's walk to reach his work place.

From the outside, it was a old rundown building with many broken windows.

And it was. The Blue York Gang was not a carpenter union or building demolishing contractor.

No, they cared little about the "outside" appearance.

Harry quickly made his way inside and passed through the entrance.

"AH!" he yelped when someone grabbed him by the back of his collar and lifted him up.

"Watcha doing here, little boy?" a deep baritone grunted from behind him. "This isn't a place for midgets like you."

"I-I work here! Daniel told me to come here!" Harry quickly replied all the while struggling to be put down.

"Daniel did, eh?" the grunt said as he put me down. "Well then, get going! I'm sure he'll be waiting for you inside." Then he kicked him in butt.

Harry grumbled as he walked in and opened the second door at the end of the rundown corridor.

The room on the other side was rundown as everything else. The gray concrete was exposed. There were cracks in places that made too many people wary of being in the building.

And then there were boxes and packages waiting for him and the other children.

"I'm the first one here?" Harry muttered to himself.

"Nope!" someone exclaimed before a hand shot out from the side from a stack of boxes. "We got breakfast here. Come and get it."

Harry quickly jogged over.

One good thing about working for the Blue York Gang was that even though they were harsh, they treated you like family.

They made you feel welcomed among them.

Before work, everyone got together and ate. Food was always provided for breakfast and lunch.

Harry quickly went around the boxes and found a small group. There were three other kids like himself and two more adults.

One of them was Daniel.

Daniel was a tall, lanky man. He was bald and had wrinkles on his forehead.

"Wotcher, midget."

Harry frowned. "Why do you keep calling me that?" he grumbled as he sat down where a small tray was prepared. The food on it was simple yet filling: a single, red apple, half a granola bar, a small bowl of porridge, and a very small package of fruit gummies.

Daniel just grinned. "Hurry up and eat. We got a lot of work to do today," he said as he ate from his own tray.

Harry sat down on the dirty concrete floor without much thought and quickly finished the granola bar in one go.

"So what are we doing today?" he asked.

Daniel jammed his finger at the other adult, who grunted and jammed his finger to a kid.

"Uh...I think we're scooping up the white powder and putting them in small ziplock bags," the kid answered. "We're supposed to wear masks? Yeah, we wear masks," he said as he pulled out a cotton cough mask from a small box off to the side.

Harry nodded. "Okay."

* * *

What Harry didn't know at the time was that the white powder that he was packaging was dangerous. A gram of it would kill fifteen people.

A single gram.

What was it?

...

Scopoalamine. It is not a famous drug in United Kingdom.

It looks like cocaine. Weights like cocaine. Feels like cocaine.

But a gram of it kills people by the dozen.

With a gram of it though...

It is a mental susceptibility drug. Once a man is drugged with this, he is open to any and all suggestion.

"Give me your money. Give me your credit card number. Give me your bank account."

Viola. It's yours.

"I'm going to fuck you so stay still."

Viola. It's yours.

It is the scariest drug imaginable. It is not even recreation-possible. It is sinister drug.

And Harry -with his tiny hands and a cotton mask over his mouth and nose- was handling the drug.

He didn't know any better, of course.

Daniel also didn't intend to have him be affected by it. All he had been told was that if he took a gram of it, the drug would kill him. That's why the masks were provided. He may be a drug dealer involved with gangs, but he had limits and morals -to a point. Taking advantage of Harry and others working for him was a no-no.

But one must remember.

One must always _remember_!

It takes a gram to _kill_.

Less than a tenth of that to _influence_.

Would a cotton mask be enough in the presence of a drug that strong?

No. It never would be. A hazmat suit would be considered "adequate."

But poor little Harry and his friends were right at the heart of it.

Scooping away. Packaging neatly.

Everyone, including Daniel, would die one by one in the streets after work.

But not Harry.

Oh no. Dear Harry scooped away, not knowing anything.

He left work like the rest and went home safe and sound.

And the first thing he heard?

"You're a freak, Harry!"

None other than Dudley Dursley, his cousin and the bully of the South London Orphanage.

And so, it was the birth of a freak.

* * *

 **Chapter 1: What is a Freak?**

Harry woke the next day.

He sat up from his bed and wondered.

What is a freak?

The question wouldn't leave his mind as he put on his t-shirt and pair of shorts and went to work at the sweatshops.

There was no one there.

But Harry remained there anyway after the guard let him in. There was a bit of commotion outside, but he didn't care.

Why? Because he was _plagued_ by the question.

What is a freak?

He sat there on the drug covered, dusty, and hardly ventilated room.

Finally, a guard came in -his hand covering his nose and mouth- and told Harry to scram.

So he did.

With no work to do, Harry roamed the streets, not knowing what to do. He passed by shops filled to the brim with chocolate-covered goods, fancy t-shirts, funny toys, and more.

But no.

He had only one question in mind.

What is a _freak_?

So when he came back to the orphanage, he asked one of the older kids.

"What's a freak?"

It happened to be a kid studying for his finals exam.

"Go to the library."

So Harry did.

He went to his city's local library, Sydney Street Library.

There, he asked the man at the front.

"Where do I find ..uh... freaks?"

The man misunderstood the boy.

After all, boys around Harry's age were into superheroes and villains. Boys were also hesitant to say what they liked to others, twisting what they mean.

Or perhaps the man was just weird. We'll never know.

But the man's direction was clear.

"Aisle 15B."

So Harry went once more.

He looked around the aisles until he found the place. It was a small corner of the library. There were barely fifteen books.

But aisle 15B is not what Harry saw.

No, it was what was on aisle 15A.

Specifically, he saw a book being displayed with its full front cover.

Unfortunately, Harry never told anyone what he read that day.

He read the book he saw.

Then the next.

Then another.

Another.

Another.

...

Harry was less than satisfied with his search when the librarian was behind him, because it was time for the library to close.

So without much thought, the librarian led the boy out of the library and told him to go back home ASAP.

Harry didn't. He loitered around the streets, trying to make sense of what he read.

He had to know, though.

So he returned day after day when the gang didn't give him work. He read more and more books to understand what he had read on his first day there.

* * *

Harry looked over himself.

He had all four limbs like any human. So he wasn't a freak that way.

He had the genital of a boy, a dick. So he wasn't a freak that way.

He had normal eyes, nose, lips, ears, face...

He was ... confused.

He had read enough books and understood enough that freak was.

But he couldn't see what was so "freaky" about him.

Still, he was determined to find out why he was a freak.

Maybe he was a freak under the skin?

* * *

Even though it hurt, the first thing he tried was to see how different he was.

Regular people had red blood.

He cut himself with a scissors. Red blood. No freakiness there.

He then cut deeper into his hand.

Regular people had red muscle. So did he.

No freakiness there.

Beyond that, it hurt too much to continue. Harry sniffed as he threw down the scissors.

How was he a freak?! Why couldn't he tell the difference?!

* * *

Next time, he got the courage, Harry dug a bit deeper.

* * *

And deeper.

* * *

And deeper.

* * *

And deeper.

* * *

And deeper.

* * *

And deeper.

* * *

And deeper.

* * *

And deeper.

* * *

And deeper.

* * *

And deeper.

* * *

And deeper.

* * *

And deeper.

* * *

And deeper.

* * *

By the time Dumbledore had sent out one of his followers to check on Harry on the boy's 10th birthday on one of their bimonthly checkup, Harry was gone from the orphanage.

* * *

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump, and the Grand Sorcerer.

He was a man of great intellect, knowledge, wisdom, power, and connections. None dared to harm him and even less could harm him...

Except himself.

In the past decade, he had invested heavily in attempting to find Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. The savior of the British Wizarding World had disappeared from his orphanage six years ago without anyone realizing it.

Albus had wanted to take the boy in himself, but the law had forbidden him because he was not the guardian to the boy. The legal guardian to the boy was the boy's godfather, who had betrayed the boy's parents. His godmother was insane along with her husband.

So they had no choice but to place Harry with his despicable aunt.

Albus had done his best to protect the boy and his only remaining family. He created Blood Wards (borderline illegal, but he got away with it), Utumary Ward (another borderline illegal ward), Ill-Intent Repelling Ward, and so on.

But it didn't help the family from _muggle terrorists_.

IRA, to be specific.

Apparently, Vernon Dursley had been donating to the local police in some heavy equipment -when he wasn't supposed to- in their fight against the then-infamous terrorist group known as the IRA.

IRA learned of this and made an example of him.

The bomb was supposed to go off when no one was using the car. Instead, it went off when the two adults of the family got in.

It made Dudley and Harry orphans.

But two years after becoming an orphan, Harry disappeared.

For the past decade, he had searched. He had poured literal tons of galleons -funded both by him, donations, and the Ministry- into this investigation.

Nothing.

The donations were starting to dwindle and the Ministry had already declared Harry a lost cause a year ago.

In fact, the Pureblood faction have gone so far as to say that it was most likely the muggles who had made their savior disappear. That the muggles had killed their savior. They roused the populace with their propaganda. Instead of pointing at the muggleborn, they pointed at the muggles.

There was now a huge dissent against the muggles due to the Pureblood's efforts. Even muggle parents of the muggleborn were not allowed to enter Diagon Alley or any other magical establishment or place of interest without the situation calling for legal defense.

Still, he had poured his own money into finding Harry.

And then a miracle happened.

Sirius Black had escaped and got himself exonerated of his crimes in Germany, of all places, and then in front of the International Confederate of Wizards, whose laws made sure that Black was freed and compensated for the wrong dealt to him.

Apparently, he had never been given a trial.

That personally shocked Albus.

How could that be? He had been assured by the Witengamot and then-Minister that Sirius had received the trial fitting of Heir Black.

Apparently not.

Sirius the Exonerated, they called him.

Now Lord Black, Sirius had also poured galleons upon galleons -not that he was ever going to run out of money- into searching for Harry.

Nothing.

And then the worst possible scenario happened.

Lord Voldemort rose once more.

Minister Bones, elected and chosen by the wizarding people of Britian, declared an all-out war against Voldemort stating, "No more!"

Voldemort, in return, had killed a hundred muggleborn and many half-bloods.

Purebloods too, in fact.

This turned the tide against him as people rose up to fight. So Voldemort did what he does best: recruit. He recruited as much dark creatures as he could from the mainland Europe, even reaching into Siberian Russia, and launched an all-out war with an army of a hundred thousand.

It was a true civil war in Wizarding Britain.

The war was then further compounded by the fact that a _Russian_ dark lord decided to take advantage of the situation to jump in the war, taking over magical Lincolnshire.

Still nothing sighted of Harry.

* * *

Albus's eyes snapped wide open as he read the letter and the picture he had received for his mail.

The picture was that of a young man with a bag over his head being carried by two men dressed in blue and purple robes. There were many lacerations upon the young man. The picture seemed like it was taken from far away, so the details weren't clear as Albus wanted them to be.

 _To Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,_

 _I don't want to reveal my identity and I have gone many steps to see that I can't be identified, for I fear for my life and that of my family's._

 _But I felt the need to report this to you._

 _The bagged man you see in the picture appeared in our village five years ago. He was dirty and rude back then. He claimed that he was a "mage." I don't think he knows about the Wizarding World despite being a wizard himself._

 _A week ago, those Russian came to Bayersfort. I suspect that they were scouting out for their dark lord's expansion here in the Wizarding Britain. Actually, I don't doubt that. But before they could gather support, they were killed brutally by those men you see in the picture._

 _It happened when the Russians demanded in the middle of the town that we accept their dark lord's rule over our town._

 _The same men who killed Voldemort's supporters took the tortured boy, but in their attempt to do so, they dispelled a glamour that I didn't even know the boy had on._

 _I saw a lightning bolt, Mr. Dumbledore. The boy had a lightning bolt on his head._

 _They are still in Bayersfort and should be when this letter arrives._

 _Godspeed._

* * *

Albus floo'ed to the Ministry immediately.

He arrived at the Atrium where people were bustling.

He walked past them in a hurry, and most of the people there thought that there must be another emergency meeting taking place. After all, Dumbledore took a central role in this Second War against Voldemort.

It was indeed going to be an emergency meeting for the higher-ups of the Ministry, but what was different about this meeting was that the topic was going to be different.

Dumbledore reached the elevator and got in just in the nick of time. Then he cursed the elevator for its slow speed, which was shocking to all of his former students around him.

Once he was on the same floor as the Minister's office, he got off the elevator and sped off again.

"Amelia, this is an emergency!" he shouted as he barged into the Minister's office.

The woman had been in discussion with several aurors. The details of which Albus cared little about.

"What is it, Albus?" Amelia asked, quickly alarmed by the fact that Dumbledore had been so alarmed.

"Harry! We found Harry!"

At first, there was moment of pause in the entire room before everyone's eyes widened as the revelation struck them in the face like a cold, wet rag.

"Where?!"

"Bayersfort! He's been taken by some dark wizards! Hurry!"

Normally, Albus would have taken his own Order, but he didn't know anything about these people who easily dispatched Voldemort's followers. No, for a work like this, aurors were better because they could provide both the number, legality, and experience needed in a hostage rescue like this.

"Arlensowyer, gather the Fifth platoon and follow Albus. You must succeed!"

The blonde auror who had been standing to her right snapped to attention before apparating Albus to the auror department a level below.

* * *

By the time they arrived at Bayersfort, Norfolk, England, they found it burning.

The aurors could see the Death Eaters killing the muggles. They were quick to move.

"Arlensowyer, with me!" Albus shouted.

The mentioned auror and three others followed Albus as they quickly made their way towards the warehouse Albus saw in the photo.

A trio of Death Eaters ambushed them from the right with Avada Kadabra. One of the aurors took two of the spells to the chest and went down in the burning street.

Albus quickly turned and with an uncharacteristic snarl, swiped his wand viciously.

The very air around the Death Eaters pressurized to unfathomable degrees and caused the Death Eaters' lungs to explode within their own chest. They dropped like flies.

The aurors said nothing as they followed the most powerful wizard in all of Europe.

Then they reached the warehouse.

It was also burning.

In front of its entrance, the wizards wearing blue and purple robes were fighting the Death Eaters ... without wands. In fact, they were launching bursts of red spells that looked like balls at the Death Eaters.

Oh, the spell, though, however pitiful it looked in its nearly transparent red globes, looked were devastating on their targets.

One of the Death Eaters took one of the red globes to the chest, for the globes were too fast for him to dodge.

His entire chest exploded ... caved in ... and then disintegrated.

Albus was quick to stun these new wizards while the aurors took down and killed the Death Eaters. He grabbed the last conscious wizard, one of the blue and purple robed wizards, and shook him.

"Where's Harry Potter?!" he demanded with a shaking that belied his frail looking body.

He hadn't wasted time and money on searching Harry for a decade to lose him now. Not now! Not when he was so close!

Surrounded by fire and death, Albus must have looked scary to the aurors, because they didn't approach him.

The wizard he grabbed just laughed even as he gurgled in his own blood.

"May ... the ... King ... emb..."

His head fell backward and stilled.

King? Emb... embrace? Were these men some kind of a cult?

"Arlensowyer, search the warehouse. Harry has to be here," Albus said even as he moved forward to search the warehouse himself.

For several minutes they searched, even as the warehouse began to burn down.

"Professor Dumbledore! An underground passage!" one of the aurors shouted before he had to jump away.

Albus nodded. "Get yourself to safety. I'll take care of it from here."

The aurors looked uncomfortable with the idea.

Then Albus cleared all of the rubble blocking the passage to the underground with a single swipe of his wand. That rested their unease and they apparated away to join their comrades outside in fighting the Death Eaters.

Albus made his way down the passage quickly.

Once he was inside, though, he felt dread like he had never felt before.

He whirled around again and again in the dimly lit passageway with the fires behind him.

Things moved in the corners of his eyes.

Things laughed quietly -oh so quietly- into his ears.

Things looked at him, but he could not see them.

"What is this place..." he muttered to himself as he moved on. Then he was out into a much wider passageway.

The place looked like it was part of the old abandoned railway.

Yes, it must be one of the old abandoned railways!

... But why did the passage from the warehouse in _Norfolk_ lead him to here ...

In London?

He turned around.

There was no passageway that he came through.

Warily, he looked around before he chose a direction that seemed to have the most dense magic floating and headed down.

'That was no portkey,' Albus thought.

Portkeys have a very unpleasant sensation that flips one's stomach.

What he just experienced was smoother than walking.

"Another freak."

He snapped his wand out.

"A freak like us is here. He dresses funny."

There was no one around him. He looked around, up, and down. No one.

"Ooh. Yes, he definitely dresses like a freak." 3. Observing.

"One of us?" Questioning, but didn't it call him a freak just a moment ago? 1.

"Freak, freak, freak!"

"Would the King accept this freak?" Questioning. 1?

"Old freak!" Insulting. That was 3.

"Freak here!" Odd. 4.

"Hehehehehehe! Freakie freakie freakie!" Insane. Has to be. 5.

"Maybe, I don't see why the King wouldn't. King loves freaks. He's a freak." Casual. 3.

"We're freaks!" Angry. 6

At least six individuals were around him, but he could neither see nor feel them.

"You can't find us, old man," 3 spoke, and all of the others quieted from their cacophony.

"...Who are you?"

"We're freaks. Those abandoned by the world above."

"Who abandoned you?"

"You know who, old freak," 6 spoke. "People who feared us. Stupid assholes who wanted to fuck with us!"

"Ignore him. He's high right now."

"I AM NOT HIGH!"

"Ignore him. Anyway, you act different. Same like those masked ones, but also different. Are there more people like us?"

"Like you? I would know more if I could see you," he replied.

"...The King will decide that. He's here."

Albus, so caught up in trying to analyze these people he could not see, was caught off guard. He whirled around with his wand out...

...And saw Harry.

His wand drooped a little, but he froze.

 _"The King will decide that. He's here."_

Harry was this King?

Harry was dressed similarly to how the blue and purple robed wizards were, except he wore in white and purple.

"Harry-"

"Who are you?" he asked with half-lidded eyes. Despite being half-lidded, Albus could feel the power those emerald eyes held. The way they glinted in the light and the barely visible wisps of power leaking.

Harry was on guard.

He calmed himself.

"I am Albus Dumbledore. The Headmaster of Hogwarts and a friend of your parents."

Harry cocked his head to the side.

"Makes no sense."

"Pardon?"

"Makes no sense," Harry repeated. "My parents could not be older than thirty when they had me, but you are older than sixty or even seventy year old. But you are not lying. Your eyes tell no lies. So it makes no sense."

"We were allies in a war."

"Against?"

"Voldemort and his allies. They wanted to separate the wizarding world from muggle world. I've been searching for you ever since you went missing."

Harry straightened himself. "Why?"

"Because I need your help. A prophecy-"

"Doesn't exist. Mere lies conjured by those who think they saw the future of this world."

"Harry-"

"How did you find me?"

"...Someone sent me a picture of you being led away with wounds on your body."

Harry che'd. "I told you that wouldn't work," he said, and Albus knew the statement was not directed at him.

"Khahaha!" That was 5, the insane voice.

"Come back later. I have work to do."

"Harry-!"

And he found himself staring at wizards and witches on their usual errands in Diagon Alley.

Once again, he had been moved across far distances against his will without his notice.

Just what was Harry and what was he dealing with?

* * *

 **And here's a new story. This story will definitely not be updated at my usual pace.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**  
 **Freaks have their own place**

Albus Dumbledore immediately told the entire Order of the Phoenix of his findings.

Harry Potter, the Heir to the House of Potter, the Heir to the House of Black, and the Boy-Who-Lived, had been found.

The first one among the Order of Phoenix to demand the way to contact Harry was none other than Sirius Black, the godfather to Harry Potter.

"What do you mean you don't have a way of contacting him?" Sirius narrowed his eyes as he shot up.

Albus put his hands up as a gesture for Sirius to calm down. "Harry has changed, Sirius. He knows of the magical world, though he calls himself and others like him 'freaks,'" he explained. "Harry and his followers-"

"Followers?" Minerva asked.

Albus nodded slowly and continued from where he had been interrupted. "Harry and his followers call themselves Freaks, and Harry himself is referred by the others as 'king.' In fact, the Death Eaters and his cult has had engagements already, and Harry has somewhat agreed to help us. But I have no way to contacting him, because he left me no way of contacting him."

"What kind of a 'cult' did Potter surround himself with?" Snape asked with a drawl. "People like his father's old gang?"

Albus thought about it.

The Marauders were a diverse group of people. Shy Pettigrew, Boisterous Potter, Lively Sirius, and Quiet Lupin.

On the other hand, the six voices that Albus had heard before Harry's appearance were even more diverse.

Allegedly, one of them was doing drugs, two of them were definitely insane, and the other three were less expressive of themselves.

Grouped up, however, the six voices made this cult out to be filled with unstable people.

 _You know who, old freak, 6 spoke. People who feared us. Stupid assholes who wanted to fuck with us!_

Albus shook his head. "I can say for certainty that they are nothing like the Marauders were," he replied sadly, a tone which confused most of the order members.

"Well, is he well?" Sirius asked.

Albus looked up and stared into his old student's eyes.

Sirius Black. Exonerated Lord Black, former member of the infamous prankster group "Marauders," and the closest living relative of Harry Potter. He was a man who had suffered years in Azkaban, and the years he spent among soul sucking demons had matured the man. No, it would be more correct to say that Sirius Black had been hardened. He was still the Marauder who led many of the pranks within Hogwarts several decades ago. Perhaps his zeal had been dropped a bit due to the harshness of reality, but his desire to prank others hadn't dropped enough if his willingness to prank his opposition within the Witengamot while there was a session ongoing.

Albus wanted a chuckle a bit at the memory of the literal pants dropping prank that Sirius had pulled without getting caught.

'Still...' he thought to himself before responding to Sirius. "Yes, he is well, my boy. He was a tall, young lad. Perhaps a little not right in the head with that cult of his, but he seemed to be doing well."

Sirius nodded slowly, not sure whether or not he should take the news as a positive or a negative.

"But alas, we are running out of time. We still have discussions to make regarding our allies in the ministry and the potential spies among them."

Moody was the first to recommend a possible traitor in the ranks of the ministry, which had been expected. "I say John Yohlson is our Death Eater spy."

"He's just a pureblood supremacist, not a Death Eater," Volarius Greengrass, one of the new members of the order, grunted.

The House of Greengrass was forced into declaring allegiance for the "Light" when death threats landed on his door step. Unlike the last war where a subtle terror campaign had been waged, the current war was a direct frontal assault between two forces. In light of this, the Death Eaters had demanded the support of the Noble Houses.

Using death threats.

Sufficed to say, it didn't really work. Some of the Noble Houses and seat holders of the Witengamot decided to join up with the Order of the Phoenix to ensure their security, because as Lord Greengrass put it, "hey, if I'm already on their hit list, does it matter if I go a step further?"

It was actually with a collaboration with the House of Greengrass that led to the arrest and death of more than a dozen Death Eaters who had assaulted the Greengrass Manor in an effort to "show the world the rightful place of the blood traitors."

However, unlike most members of Order of the Phoenix, Lord Greengrass took a more grey approach to life. As a result of this, the older members of the Order of the Phoenix were not quite happy with the "grey-faction" leader within the Order of the Phoenix.

It was for this reason that Lord Greengrass often butted head with former Head Auror Moody, who was an indiscriminate attacker of all things Death Eater related.

Albus sighed as the order's meeting once again turned to "black and white vs grey" debate between the old and the new members again.

With no choice nor anyone willing to stop this madness, he drew in a deep breath, fully aware of the fact that his lungs weren't as flexible and young as they used to be. "Ladies and gentlemen!" he boomed.

Everyone stopped and turned to stare at him. Some were surprised, while others were expecting.

"We're allies, are we not? This ceaseless discussion will not help us. We're here to discuss and find the weakness of our enemies. So discuss about the enemy, not about each other!"

Cowed by the most powerful wizard's berating, the order members slowly got back on track.

But it was times like this that Albus really wished that the Second Wizarding War for Britain hadn't come.

He was happy being the Headmaster of Hogwarts and somewhat as the Chief Warlock for the Witengamot. This war was unlike the first. Albus no longer had his patience nor the charity that he used to possess during the first war. He knew that he was becoming more and more outspoken and violent, the two aspects of himself that he had worked so hard to repress.

Perhaps it was the decade long search for Harry Potter that had affected him so. It certainly had affected Sirius.

Albus discreetly looked at Sirius. The Lord Black was pointing out reasonable targets for the order to spy upon and pretty much acted as the mediator between the old and new, and the old headmaster knew that it had a lot to do with the fact that Sirius was the generation between Moody and that of Lord Greengrass.

With Sirius heading the meeting, Albus let his thoughts wander to the boy he had lost to the unknown...

* * *

 **-AvA-**

* * *

Nietzche once said, "if you stare into the abyss, the abyss gaze back into you."

As a learned freak, Harry knew of many philosophers and their words, but rather than enjoying the confusing tides of philosophy, Harry liked to enjoy himself in the murky depths of fantasy for it was through fantasy that he realized greater depths of "freakiness" and "chaos."

Like this one quote, for example.

 _"The process of delving into the black abyss is to me the keenest form of fascination"  
-H.P. Lovecraft_

Harry couldn't agree more with the American horror author. It was actually though Lovecraft's ideas and fantasies that he, Harry, gained the heights of power that he did.

With his freakiness.

With his _magic_.

It was why he was able to gain the followers he turned.

Perhaps having delved into fantasies like those of Lovecraft, Harry had also explored a lot of other worldly fantasies for more. It was after a long journey through the minds and imaginations of others that he came out with an idea. He was going to build himself a servant! A golem or homunculus. He gathered the materials that he believed were necessary for the construction of such servant.

* * *

 _Harry sat in the center of what he knew were the things needed for his servant._

 _A runic array meticulously designed by himself using the ancient Norse language._

 _Carcass of a man to provide the servant the body._

 _A jewelery with an ancient history to house the "mind-construct" of his servant to be._

 _A Persian Violet drenched in unicorn blood to represent the purity of the servant's loyalty to Harry himself._

 _And finally, fresh and large parchment of his own flesh stripped from his back to declare that his servant was of his own blood._

 _Upon the Halloween night a decade ago, he cast forth a simple chant._

 _Raising his hands up so that they were parallel with the floor, he spoke._

 _"Thee art of mine flesh and soul. I giveth life on to thee. Taketh these offerings and becometh mine loyal servant still more. I believeth thrice upon the Halloween moon. I believeth thrice upon the halloween moon. I believeth thrice upon the halloween moon."_

 _The pentople circular formation instructional runic array lit up as he pushed magic through his chant. He observed it for a second before he began to slowly rise up._

 _"Cometh forth, mine son, mine servant, mine flesh. Tonight, I giveth thee what thou has't at each moment desired from the depths of mine mind, mine Zrutsul!"_

 _The moment he finished his chant, however, the entire runic array lit up and latched unto him._

 _'That's not supposed to happen-?!' Harry thought for a single second before tendril of raw magic began to be siphoned out of himself._

 _He screamed as he felt pain he'd never experienced before._

 _He fell upon the floor, and even then the runes did not let up._

 _They drained away his life and his magic._

 _"T-This shouldn't be ha-happeni-!" he shrieked in pain before he was struck with a shocking revelation._

 _Thee art of mine flesh and soul. I believe thrice upon the Halloween moon._

 _He had used the first phrase as a declarative; that this servant was of his flesh. A family._

 _The second phrase had been used to amplify the intention behind it._

 _He had messed up so hard._

 _The entire first part of the chant was the "sacrificial" portion of a ritual._

 _On a night where magic is chaotic, wild, and restless, he had offered his own flesh and soul, and may have demanded of his own magic to take three-fold the sacrifice._

 _He was scr-_

 _"AHHHHH!"_

* * *

 _As the darkness around him wrapped around him, Harry berated himself._

 _Freakiness, he had learned no less than a year ago, was fickle. It was naturally violent yet collapsing within itself. Creating more and more, breaking the laws of physics._

 _Yet he had demanded more from it on a night that made magic even more finicky and restless._

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid-!_

 _He couldn't berate himself more._

 _He had fallen unconscious even before his servant took shape, so he now had no idea what was going on outside of his head._

 _"...?"_

 _Harry mentally frowned._

 _Was something saying something?_

 _"...a...?"_

* * *

"Master?"

Harry snapped out of his reminiscence, and turned around.

At the entrance of his workshop, a blonde, young woman stood dressed in a black and white butler uniform.

"Adria," he smiled at his first child.

Adria Potter. Born on the night of Halloween of 2002, she was the first of many servants he would make.

The ritual he had used that night created unintended consequences for himself and his servants. Adria, in particular, became literal "daughter" of Harry Potter. While blonde, she had his messy hair. Curiously enough, her messy hair was more elegant that his own, which added to her appeal rather than being a sticking point.

He also checked out both of his and her DNA just to make sure.

Another unintended consequence was that Harry also became a literal father to Adria Potter. The ritual had planted in him a seed of "green love" that grew bigger with more time he spent with his "daughter," as did she.

A real father-daughter family love, not that of a cold master-servant relationship.

Harry was glad he messed up the ritual, because it had given him a family.

"Trevor is becoming uneasy, again."

Harry sighed as his good mood collapsed. "I'll be there in a bit. I have to stabilize this."

She bowed and left.

With that, he turned his attention back to his silver surfaced steel worktable with a quadruple "permanent stabilization, green-for-good red-for-bad, penultimate pain suppression, and intent-to-steps" instructionary rectangular ancient Sumarian cuneiform complex etched and embedded with gold along the edge of the silver surface. Within the center of that complex was a triple layered kabbalic "modify" instructionary circular array.

And at the center of that inner circles as long as he was and half as wide was a mass of red ooze.

This was his latest servant work-in-progress, "Moria."

When he designed his latest son ... daughter ... 'Now that i think about it, Moria doesn't have a gender, but I can't Moria "it,"' he thought with a frown even as he fed the red ooze and a drop of blood.

The ooze shivered.

Harry watched it for a while before he stood up.

"I'll be back soon, Moria," he said as he turned around and left his workshop. Once he was out of the said room, he was in a large corridor built out of white marbles chunks and raw gold veins thrumming with light within them. He turned left, and briskly walked down the hall that was at least ten times as high as he was tall and thrice as wide.

He then stopped at a large pair of wooden doors reinforced around the edge with steel frame, and banged on it twice.

One of the pair creaked open slowly, and Harry walked in through the crack.

"What's wrong, Trevors?" he asked.

Trevors, no last name, was a man who had joined Harry after escaping the nearby mental asylum. He had been shoved in the facility after he repeatedly screamed in public of seeing death everywhere.

Normal people didn't know of course, that Trevors was actually saying the truth. When he said that he saw death in everyone, he was seeing darkness creeping over the entire person. Like a second skin. For trying to warn others that they were close to death, the normals shoved him into a mental asylum.

Harry took him in, and gave him a home.

"A-Ah, boss."

He was also the first member of the 'cult' that he had made.

Harry leveled Trevors a deadpan, half-lidded stare. "Trevors., why aren't you on your meds?"

The man of 45 flinched. "I-I'm sick of it, Harry!" he hissed, even as twitchy and unstable as he was. "I-I-I feel like I'm still in that p-p-p-place when I h-have to eat those pil-l-l-ls."

"They're for your stuttering and nervousness, Trevors. They are not for making you sleepy or making you happy for no reason."

"I k-know, boss."

"Do you have them with you? You know I spent a long time so that you won't have to buy it ever again, right?"

Trevors nodded vigorously.

Harry had a policy for anyone who joined him, which extended to his children. When anyone joins him, he personally makes them a gift best suited for them as magic -his freakiness- dictates.

For Trevors, it was a leather pouch with "copy" function imbued upon it. The said pouch, after being introduced to the three drugs Trevors needed to continue a normal freak's life, faithfully recreates the drugs the man needs each and every morning.

Trevors nodded shakily with tear-filled eyes, which was a sad sight considering the man's handsome face and six-packed body. Then he pulled the pouch out of his pocket and shook it.

The pouch, held upside down, popped out two pills. Trevors shakily brought them up and swallowed them.

"I know t'll happen again, Trevors, but try to eat your share of them every morning, okay?"

He nodded.

"Good," he said before he walked out.

As he made his way back to his workshop, he let his mind wander.

Ever since he met that old "wizard" a week ago, Harry saw to it that his people observed them.

The wizards, witches, and their magical folks.

They were very unlike the other "freaks" of the world that he dealt with on a daily basis. With the exception of those the wizards and witches called "dementors," the other "freaks" acted as if they were no different from the regulars. He wondered if that was the reason why the wizardkin engaged in things like "war."

The war between the dark and light for Magical Britain continued on.

Voldemort.

Dumbledore and Bones.

That-Russian-Dark-Lord-Whose-Name-Everyone-Forgot.

Harry really wondered if it was worth it for them. After all, with their magic, couldn't they just make a pocket universe for themselves as he had done? It wasn't that hard, too, or did they not know how to? Were worldly possessions and ideals so important to them that they would sacrifice their lives for it?

Harry shrugged as he reached his workshop again, and opened the door.

"Dad."

He paused and looked around the workshop.

There. On top of his worktable where Moria was supposed to be ... was himself?

"Moria?" he asked.

His clone blinked a few times before nodding.

"Why do you look like me?"

Moria tilted his head. "Am I not supposed to?"

Harry chuckled.

Moria was the latest among the "Ooze" children, and they all had one thing in common at birth: they copied his form.

Unlike the rest of his children, oozes did not have a stable form to call their own. However, they had the ability to transform, and they often did transform into animals or people that were closest to them in their early stages of life. It usually took about a year's worth of education, experience, and living for his ooze children to take on a shape of their own.

"Come, Moria," Harry said as he reopened the door. "It's time for you to meet your brothers and sisters."

* * *

Unfortunately for Moria, he would not meet the third oldest of Harry's children.

That particular child was out in the field, scouting for his father.

Named Cabal, he was the most esoteric of the first five of his siblings. He was not the most powerful -that title belonged to Adria- nor was he a genius -like Daniel- but he was definitely the most experienced combatant out of all of his siblings, barring John.

He had with him five cult members. Acolytes, if he recalled their title correctly. They were other "freaks" who were learning to become like his father. They desired to create their own pocket universes where they could create whatever they saw fit.

But it was a long time before any of these acolytes would create pocket universes like his father, or create anything like himself or his siblings.

At the behest of his father, Cabal was in the field with one purpose: find a base of the Death Eaters and kill everyone within its walls for killing members of the cult.

For that purpose, he used the severed arm with the snake and skull mark tattooed upon it to track large concentrations of their fellow terrorists and murderers.

He wondered if they would give him a good fight. The Warriors of the Cult were stagnating in their development as of late. Something about the limits of human body before magic and esoteric arts were introduced.

Without even looking, he could feel the stares of the acolytes waiting for his command.

He gave the house before him another look, admiring its Victorian architect, before he nodded.

The acolytes quickly pulled out their Mystic Codes, a term his father had stolen from a Japanese franchise.

Acolytes were allowed one-handed Mystic Codes of simple nature as a rule within the cult. This rule extended to possible combat scenarios as well.

Without pause, the acolytes began to chant in their various tongues.

A human sized fireball appeared before all five of them and they threw it like a catapult.

The fiery magic of the fireballs smashed into the barrier wards of the house before him.

Then Cabal moved.

When the barrier magic flared up to protect the house from the fireballs, Cabal rushed forth. Just before he reached the fenced gates, he pulled his hand back as if he was swinging a bat.

Just as he got into position to strike the gate, a blue shimmer zapped into appearance within his hands, and left behind a hammer thrice as tall as he was as the light dimmed down and disappeared.

"UOOOHHHH!" he roared as he smashed into the gate.

The fireballs and the strike of a giant hammer shattered the barrier ward, and soon, Death Eaters were rushing out of the house by the dozens.

* * *

Yaxley shouted orders for his comrades to take down the intruders as he charged out of the house.

He was greeted to a sight that confused and scared him.

At the foot of the wrangled gates were five red robed men and women with weird wands. Leading them was a figure that could not be a living thing.

Standing at 2 meters tall at the least, it was a humanoid made out of muggle contraptions. Gears like those used in Hogwarts Express except much bigger. Its gears spun slowly with a leisure while the few non-gear metal sticks and joints remained statue still. If it wasn't for the jagged jaws moving slowly up and down, Yaxley would have confused the thing for a bad taste in art collection.

Even as he and his Death Eaters took up defensive positions, the red robed attackers and the gear humanoid made no move.

"Fire at will!" he shouted.

The red robed wizards and witches quickly took cover, but the thing did not. It took Banishers, Carvers, Expulsos, and even Killing Curses, and yet, it stood unflinchingly.

Even as a stray expulso and bombarda threw up dust into the air, obscuring the view, Yaxley could imagine the _thing_ standing there.

After a long five second barrage of spells, the courtyard fell silent.

As the dust cloud slowly moved away with the soft breeze, Yaxley found himself grimacing.

The thing was still there, still standing, and definitely unscathed. Dirtied, yes. Damaged, no.

"Is it a runic form of Protego?" he muttered to himself as he looked for anything similar to such things, but he found none.

To his shock, it was not the mages who spoke but the creature.

"You lot," it creaked with a sigh that sounded like the hiss of the Hogwarts Express steam engine exhaust. "Made yourselves the enemies of the Cult of the Esoteric. This is merely a declaration of war as decreed by our father, our king!"

Out of nowhere, the creature brought out a huge hammer and swung down.

The earth rumbled before quieting down mere seconds later.

Yaxley was about to cast another spell at the thing, but his motion was cut off when spikes shot out of the ground from where the hammer had pounded. Spikes ranging from barely being a meter in length to three meter spikes shot out at him and the other Death Eaters.

He quickly ducked behind the garden wall that he had been standing behind of. The same could not be said for his comrades around him as the spike spears tore their chests and heads open.

Then there was a rhythmic rumble-

Yaxley trusted his gut instinct's screams and dove away from the garden wall just as the bronze gear and metal creature smashed through it with the ease of a tornado through a barnyard.

It _growled_ as its "eyes" laid upon him.

Still holding the rough warhammer in its hand, it lifted them up-

A spell exploded in its face, and the thing dropped the hammer behind it.

There was a cheer that wrung throughout the Death Eater ranks.

Yaxley didn't believe that the spell actually did any damage to it.

As the explosion and its black smoke cleared away, the cheers died out as they saw the creature looking at them with what could be called a frown.

"Is that it?" it growled before it pulled out a earthen spear and chucked it in the span of a single second. The spear struck through four Death Eaters in a row and tossed them aside as the force of the throw caused a tumble. "Father told me you guys were going to be worth a goddamn fight! So give me a good fight!" it roared as it pulled out more and more earthen spears and slung them with rapidity that an army could muster.

* * *

By the time Cabal had thrown his 77th spear, all "Death Eaters" except the one in front of him was dead or had escaped using some sort of a cloudy teleportation.

"Worthless sacks unworthy of their magic," he growled before he turned to Yaxley.

Was this the group of people that killed the members of his father's cult? He couldn't -no, wouldn't- believe that.

These fucking noobs were on the same level as the cult's acolytes!

In his mind, there was only one thing to do against such a group as his father had done against their first enemy.

Dominate.

He roughly grabbed the shivering and whimpering Death Eater by the collars and brought the sad excuse of a man up to his face. He let loose a stream of hot steam upon the man's face.

"Tell your master that the Cult of the Esoteric takes no shit from anyone, human, and I, Cabal the Earthen Gear, will lead our cult's crusade against the pitiful sacks of fucktardian group you guys are!" he roared and tossed the man away.

The Death Eater crunched upon the cobblestone road and rolled away. He whimpered before he stood up on shaky legs, and used the same black cloudy teleportation of his comrades to disappear.

"That was a fucking disappointment," Cabal growled. "They were weaker than American mages!" he roared in anger. "Father better have good reason for riling me up..." he grumbled before he walked over to the acolytes. "Make the damn portal already. Our statement has already been made."


	3. Chapter 3

When the news about the death of a dozen Death Eaters and the destruction of one of their base struck the Prophet, the Light side cheered.

After all, was it not a great victory?

Their cheer would die down, though, when the article later described how that destruction came about.

The eye witness, who everyone knew had to be one of the Death Eaters, talked to Rita Skeeter, one of the only neutrals, from his bed in the St. Mungo's. Even as his wounds bled again, he spewed details about how a _thing_ made out of muggle steel gears walked the earth with a warhammer taller than two of any men put together. How that Thing used magic to create spears to throw and pierce the Death Eaters. How the Unforgiveables were completely useless against it.

How that brutal monster grabbed men and women alike before ripping them apart with the strength of a giant.

Did it stop there? No!

He talked about the "Cult of the Esoteric" that attacked the Death Eaters.

Unfortunately for the eye witness, just as Rita left, he exploded into fine red mist.

* * *

Voledmort was _pissed_. Anyone would be if quarter of their inner circle had been injured or killed in one assault.

He ended up having to grill the Death Eater in charge of the manor's security, but what he found was less than pleasing.

"M-My Lord! They appeared inside the wards! The wards didn't even r-react to them! I couldn't do anything, sir! P-Please forgive me! P-Please forgive -"

Sufficed to say, that Death Eater had been reduced to sobbing wreck before demoted to a low ranking fighter.

"Find me those bloody cultists! Bring me anyone that we can interrogate!" Voldemort commanded.

* * *

While such was going on in the Dark camp, the Light camp, specifically in Dumbledore's camp, the faction was split in two ways.

One of them condoned the swift and decisive actions of the Cult of the Esoteric, and praised them for their victory.

The other damned the Cult of the Esoteric for using "inhumane" methods to bring down criminals. How can they claim to be part of the light if they condoned the actions of what was obviously a cold blooded murder?

Dumbledore just watched the two sides argue, because he hypothesized -no, knew!- that the firepower that the Prophet reported was nothing more than a vanguard.

And if the vanguard was capable of demolishing a heavily warded manor and kill more than half of its fighters, then what would the main force be like?

It was a question that was starting to plague Albus's mind.

Did he do the right thing in seeking out the Harry's -and thus the Cult of Esoteric's- help? What kind of force would the Cult of Esoteric be once this war was over?

For that matter, wasn't it possible that the Cult could take over Wizarding Britain after both the Light and the Dark were weakened?

A troubling question, one he hoped would not need to be answered.

* * *

Harry sat comfortably in his favorite rocking chair.

He currently stared out into the vast nothingness of the void of his pocket universe, which was stopping its growth, managing to become about the size of a small solar system. A small star sat in the middle of this pocket universe, glowing white in its fiery glory, and he was finally beginning to see the wisdom and intellect of the mundane scientists. Despite being bound to their planet, they were able to accurately predict many aspects of a universe. And they needed only a few tools for it.

Granted, they were expensive tools, but they were also bound to their planet with no way of exploring the deep space like he could.

So kudos to muggle scientist.

Still, in this pocket universe, Harry was slowly losing control. It was simply too large for even himself to control every little thing. This was why he had forced the pocket universe to stop its growth.

"Master."

Harry continued to gently rock in his chair. "Riam."

Riam, otherwise known as the Cult of Esoteric's third highest ranking member. One of the few Freaks that Harry had recruited to the cult.

"I ... I'm here to inform you that I will be leaving the cult."

"..." Harry pondered for a bit before he paused. "I had expected this."

"Sir?"

"This is regarding the matters of our homeworld, is it not?"

Harry knew that Riam was nodding even with his back to the gentle man.

Riam was an abandoned teenager like himself. Like attracts like, and Harry had drawn the teenager -now man- to himself like a light does to a moth. Riam learned under his tutelage, and was able to form his own pocket universe. It was not as large or powerful as Harry's, and nowhere near comparable to the Original Universe, but it was pocket universe where the man was god within it.

Harry was proud when he first saw Riam's accomplishments.

But those were in the past.

A few years ago, an argument broke out within the ranks of the Cult of the Esoteric.

They saw the other Freaks still living and binding themselves to the homeworld waging war with each other over trivial matters like Light and Dark.

What the cultists argued about was if the cult should be involved.

A lot of the younger cultists adamantly agreed with Riam about the need to use their power to stop needless conflicts like the one happening in "Wizarding Britain."

Harry and the older cultists refused this. They had grown wise in their earlier years of hiding and observing, and saw no need to interfere in what was basically a "petty squabble."

Light and Dark. Such concepts were truly laughable.

Only reason that Harry had ordered his third son Cabal to attack the Death Eaters was to retaliate against an unprovoked attack. Most of the cultists were earthbound for whatever reasons like most of the other Freaks who called themselves wizards and witches. This rendered them vulnerable to attacks, and many had died at the hands of Death Eaters.

Riam, as gentle as he was, was also very protective. While Harry was content to give out warnings using Cabal, Riam and the youngsters wanted to wipe out the Death Eaters.

"Suffer not the Sinner to live" was their motto.

"I give you my blessing, Riam, but you are no longer part of the cult," he replied sadly.

"I understand, Master."

"... Good Luck, Riam."

Then the gentle man was gone, and Harry instinctively knew that rest of Riam's faction was gone from his pocket universe.

He sighed.

He felt like an old man, which he technically was.

Despite time having moved only a decade or so in the homeworld, time moved differently in his own pocket universe; while a decade had passed on the cradle of humanity, more than a hundred years had passed within Harry's world.

Riam, Harry's oldest student, had left him.

This ... betrayal hurt Harry.

His young face sagged just a little in sadness.

He continued to rock his chair, watching the stars form.

* * *

It was a few hours -or was it years?- later that one of his children came up to him in the vast emptiness.

"Father."

Harry looked over to the voice, and found Adria standing to his right with Borea.

Borea was his second child. Unlike Adria, Borea did not look like a human at all like his younger brother Cabal. Standing at ten meters tall, Borea had a hunched back with red skin covering him entirely. He had no face or ears, only indents where such normal features should be. He wore a black shroud on top of himself and carried a massive black scythe that devoured light like a black hole.

Harry may have been _heavily_ influenced by Lovecraft when Borea was being created.

"Yes, Adria and Borea?"

Borea bowed a little forward and crooned, which was the most expressive his second oldest ever got.

"It's been an year since you locked yourself here, Father. The others are worried."

Harry's eyes lit up in surprise. "Has it been so long?" he frowned.

"Only an hour in the homeworld, but you know time runs differently here, father."

"Yes, I do," Harry replied. There was a pause before he sighed. "Let's go then."

Just like that, the three disappeared to a distant corner of the pocket universe, leaving only the empty void and the white star in their wake.

* * *

"My lord," Severus greeted his master.

Voldemort nodded to Severus, despite the heavy scowl the former man held.

Severus let out a sigh of relief. It seemed that Lord Voldemort still trusted him and held him in high regard, because if that was not the case, he would be on the floor writhing in pain.

"Come, Severus," his lord commanded, and he approached the Dark Lord, coming to the man's right side.

"Yes, milord?"

"Tell me what the Order of the Phoenix have been doing lately. For one, how did they manage to get this 'cult' to help them?" he asked of his spy.

Blink. Blink.

"My lord?"

"Don't think I'm a fool, Severus," Voldemort chuckled. "I may have a bit of my sanity ripped from me, but I am by no means stupid. I've known about the cult for quite some time, and they were content to leave us wizards and witches be. Suddenly, Albus Dumbledore allegedly comes across them, and we are attacked by the Cult. Suspicious, no?"

How did his lord hear about Albus's little adventure?

"From what Albus told the rest of the Order, it seems that he ran into the "King" of the Cult, one Harry Potter."

"The Boy Who Lived? The one who defeated me? Why did you keep this information from me?"

"Because I didn't trust it, milord. Albus has been ... losing some senses."

Voldemort smirked. "I suppose I can let this slide, but next time, I won't be as generous. Understood, Severus?"

"Yes, milord."

"Good. Anything else?"

"W-"

"Milord!" a Death Eater shouted as he ran into the Dark Lord's personal study. "We've spotted the cultists!"

Voldemort shot up. "Lead on!"

* * *

The cultists in question was Riam and his faction. Numbering at a measly ten, they were a very small part of what was once the whole Cult of the Esoteric.

Having arrived at London during the busy hours, they tried to set up a pocket dimension base, only to run into Death Eaters first.

The Death Eaters cared little about the bystanders and threw curses and jinxes while the cultists threw everything they keep the bystanders from becoming victims.

Now, they were engaged in a full on fight.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" one of the Death Eaters roared as loud as he could as he flung the neon green spell at the ten cultists.

With a sigh, Riam spoke.

.

.

.

ş̨̝͕͙̣̙̤̼̤̜͎̰͖͓̜̻̥̠̩ͬ̒ͣ͛ͨ̇͛̆͗ͮ̇͟͟e̸̴̦͔̙͙̣̫̗͚̹̭̳̼̺̫̩̣̺ͧ̏̍͑ͫl̸̡̞̖͙̝̮̗͚̭̻̯̣̣̟̬͕̰̒ͭ́͌̓̑̿ͧͨ͊͊̋̒̂̆ͪͪ͊͜ŗ̶͕̮͇̮̫̞̠̃̆ͣ̽̆̿̍ͥ̉̔͌ȉ̛͎̳̜̣̈̽͊̽̃ͮ̇͆ͪ͂̓̇͊͊ͫ̓̀͢͠ ̝̩̳̯̞̹ͭͬͣ̾̆ͤ͛̈̓̒̀͘͟ģ͙̲̹͎̘̘̪̻ͯ͌̑̑̅ͥͤ̽͐̂̂̎ͤͭ̿͛͌̏̓̀͡s̴̷͕̱̫͓̭̪̹̥̜͎̬̘͕͗ͣ̄̐ͥͧͮͨͣͧ̈ͤ̀͒͂͝͝ͅr̡̧͓͚͖̞̫̮͔͔̤͖͍̘̈͐ͫ̒̾̏̔̂̂̀͞t̢̠͖̩͎͎͔̻̮̘̠͚̥͖̫̲̟͑͌͆ͥ͒͒͌ͥ̍͒̇͂͒̃̃̑͐͋̕͟͞ͅḑ̰̻̱̜̹̙̭̻̍̓̈́̾ͨ̋͌́͟r̥̹͎͐͋̓ͣ͌̀͌͟͡͝zͮͦͮ̎͌̎͏̷҉̴̹͙̦̦͚̜̭͖̩̯̝̮̭̗ ͧ͛̋̋͛͒͆̐̃͛ͥ̃͂͏͏̧̢̮̥̭͚̗̠̝̠̱͉̟̙͖x̶̨̺̱̲̤̹̼̦̖̻̓̊͗͆͊ͫ̀͐ͩ̋͐̂̀f̶̝͙̤̝͉͕̲͙͍̞̗̖̝̾̋̾̑̍̌͆̽̎̿ͨ̓̿̾ͩ̾ͬ͒ͥ͝y̿ͣͪ̓͒̇̀̓ͦ́̌̚̕҉̛͘͏͖̞͇̣̣̪̩̻͙̜6̧̛̼͉̙͖͓̦̼͙̰̘͈͕̺ͬ̂̿̉ͯͦͣ́̈ͮ͐̆ͭͨͬ̑ͧͯͩ͜͟2̛̌͛ͭ̔̉̅̔̽̅ͧ̾ͥ͂̌̆ͦ͌ͤ͏̧̳̫̮̖̜͇͕͈̺̖͚̠̞̖y̷̨̡̼̯̙̦̲̜̳̗͒ͫ͛̔͐͛̐ͫ̈́̔͆̋́͝t̢̫̬̳͕̩͎̩͚͉͔̭̠͖̺ͣ̓ͣ̋͘ͅg̱͔̯̼̼̖͔͙͙͉̲͔̺͍͚͎̩͌ͭ͊ͭ͑̅̓̀̆̒ͯ͢͞ ̷̢̟̘̼̰̲̬̤̲͒ͫͦͦͅ3̨͉̤̭̭͚́͂ͮͫͩͦ́̔̽̀̍̈́ͦͧ̚̚͟a̵̧̟̜̥͖̯̙͉͇̣̝̦̤ͨ̆ͤ͛͗̓̑̇ͨ̋ͯ̅ͯ̉̑e̷̴̫̪̬̩͈̟̪̘̣̙͎͔̩̰̯̜̹͈ͩͨ̇̾́͠g̡̛̻̮̪̘̲̠̒͗̇̇̊͒̀ͥ̀ͭͯͤ̈s̮̥͙̱̝̬̳͍̠̝̥͔̃̾ͮ́̐ͥ̚̚͢͢ͅe̼̙̘̫̱ͤ͑͊͡

.

.

The Death Eater who threw the Avada Kedavra suddenly exploded in a shower of gore and black clothes. The Death Eaters who arrived on the scene just as the man exploded quickly jumped out of the sight of Riam and the other cultists.

"Pathetic," Riam grunted. "The rest of the Freaks are losing against these pathetic people?"

"Who are y-?!" one of the Death Eaters shot up to curse Riam.

The said Death Eater found his neck separated. Blood spewed forth like a fountain as his head fell.

"Bloody monsters!" another Death Eater shouted as he threw a reducto at the cultists.

A cultist to Riam's right took offense and threw his left hand out.

The reducto stopped mid air before disappearing altogether.

The cultist switched his hands, and a black blade flew forth from his right hand to the reducto throwing Death Eater.

The man rolled out of the way-

-and got hit.

He stumbled at the impact of the blade and gurgled in confusion as blood rose up to his mouth. His eyes asked, 'how?' He looked down and saw the black blade he thought he had dodged lodged perfectly on top of his heart and lungs. He was dead before he keeled over.

By then, three dozen Death Eaters had arrived.

"Fire!"

Riam spoke again even as veins swelled and thickened around his face and neck.

.

.

j̢̥̭̺̺̖̭̤̰̬̹͖͇͈͈͍̠̿̿͌́͛̊͋̔͗̂͐̿͂̀͜͠͠i̵̷͙͔̘̳̞̬̗̲͎̗͐̽́ͨ̃͐ͦ̅̿ͥͮ͊͋͋̈́̀̀̚͝j̶̢̧̧̼̥̼͇ͯ̑̉̈́ͮͬ͋͑̓͡i̒͐ͭͬ̓ͮ̅̍ͩ̎̉̏̄̌ͤ̈́̚̚҉̸̩̞͙̜̬͜ ̷̛̐̏͗ͮͦͥ̄̇̽ͨ̃̑̎ͭͭ̚҉͉̗̩̹͙k̨͕̻̺͉̟̻̪͈̭̑̀̀ͯ͑͋̏͛̒͟͝h̬̮̫̩̤̆̀͛̋́̕͞͡w̉ͣ̈̔ͦ̈́ͦ҉͈̱͙̳̦̟̖̣̼̝͘i͌ͫ͌ͫ̿̔͂̑͆̚͞͏̛̰̩̰͎̳̬̳̮̠͙͇̼ü̼̙̰͓̒ͤ̏͗͌͋ͫ͌͊̍ͧͫ̅́͢ṫ̸̢̲̥̱͍̓̂̈̈́̉͗̑̎͊̒͌ͬ̑̀͘ư̶̢̱̫̗̻͓͖̦̙̹̞ͣ̌ͥ̑ͤͭͯ̔̇͗̑͗͗ͧͦ̚͠l̄̅ͫ͂̍ͯͣ͐́͌ͦ҉͏̡͉̘̼̬̥̙̠̞͜͠ ̵̛͍̬̘̫̠̹͉̺͔̰̎ͣ̆̋͌ͥ̑ͭͪ̊́̚̕a̡̻̫͉̥̬̮ͬ̔̉ͮ̅̃ͨ̀ͯ͌͋́̚͘ş̼͍͈̬̯̲̺̘̖̣͚̭̏ͥ͑̔̉͌̇ͬ̊͘̕n̷̡͈̗̹̬̞̣͔͉̗͈̺̯͖̗͕̤̬͈̑͌̒ͧ͐ͬ͂͊̈́̅͆ͥ͌̊͂̈̃͑̚͜͟f̴͔̥͖̲̥̹̙̠̆ͣ̓̇̊̎̉̄͝ͅoͫ̋̀̇͂̽̊̾͐̚͢͏̘͙͇̟̮̳̩̝̲̠̹̠͓̪͎̤̺͉̺l̶͚͔̼͎̖̝͕̰̺̜͈̰̪͉ͥ̑̎̿̆̄ͦ̂͑̄̾̈́ͦͯ̋ ̡̧͖͈͔̗̟̰̉͐̋̍̍̔͛̉̀͂̾̀̆ͣͧ̃̚̚̕

.

.

An ethereal shield formed around the ten cultists, and withstood the fury of thirty plus Death Eaters.

.

.

ŵ̶̨̨̯̰̱̝̗͕̰̣̼͉͓͙̲̓̾̌̆͊͟͡4͙͓͉͔̯̤͚͆ͩͪ̈̅̿͋̐̄ͮ̒̌ͧ͆́̀͟͢s̷̢̬͔̭̜̪̳̹͍̟̣̾̒̉ͩ̈́̇̅ͯ̎̐̂̃3̨ͩͧͮ̄̑̆ͥ͋̄̋̐͂͑͑͛҉̯̖̼͇t̸̪̰̰̬͕͍̞̱̝̱͙̗͉͚̼̼̓̍̓̔̕e̛͈͓̼̫͚̭̠͙̹̱̙̥͈̜ͩͨ̆ͬ͌͆̀̊̎͑̉͛ͧ͋̚͟͞ ̆ͥ̊̔̈́̑̀ͩ̉͒ͧ̚̚͏̠̳̩͈̲̕̕͜͜t̶̢̡̯̱͙ͦͫ̔ͪaͥͭ͒ͣ̋͌͐́͊ͯ҉̯̺̠̠͜ě̵̟͇̯̰̪͖̯̹̙̹̥͖͙̪̭ͭ̂̐̒̈͆ͬ̄́ͯ̾̂̅ͯ̀̿̀͟ͅr̶̴͙̹͉̖̳̬̬͚̤͔͎̺͎͖̩̹̩̝͈͆̃̿ͦ͐̍͒ͤ͑̾ͣ̏̋͑ͧ͂ͤ͗̂͘͘͞ ̵̷̛̣̜̺̰̺̣̤͍͎̟̟̳̳̱̣͌ͪ͑̓͝͞ͅa͋̄ͧͤ̈̄̈́̅҉̸̪͖̻̙͉̩͓̣͢e͋͂͆͌͏̨̥̪͍̱̲̺͉̫̘̯̠̕͜ ̶̧̐̅͒ͪ̔̏̌͗͐̃͌̒͂̑̍ͧ҉͉̟͍̲̺̟̳̲͔͖̞̼͔̤̗̖ŗ̵̲͔̹̭̘͍͓͚͚̜͈̦̂̐̆̉͊̌͋ͫ͗͂̓ͧ̅͒̋͟͠ͅg̸̢̞̲͉͂ͯ̾̇ͧ́͂͛͆̐͗ͥ͆̾ͨͯ̀́ͥa̸̵̢̢̮̣̪͎̥̖̳͖̖̦ͦ̓ͦ̈́̆ͮͮ͂͠w̶̨̢̘̘̖͍̬̦̓ͦ̇̉͋ͯ͗̿͘e̸͎̼̪̭͇̗̭̟̤̰̜͙̍̽̐͊ͭ͆̽̍ͦ͆ͤ͌͜h̤̺̗̘̆̑̈́̂͗ͤͣ̎͌ͥ̓͐̓͜͜͞t̵̡̘̠̻̖͗̅ͥͦ͛̀̉ͥ̎̃̌ͭ͛̅͐ͯ̆̚ḑ̛̝̟̝̤̭̠̦̭̝͈͉̋̈͒̏̊ͮ͒̈́ͬ͢ͅz̢̖͕͓̦̺̲̟̗̜̺̬̺̰̦͉ͥͩ̑ͣͦͭ̈̀͊g̵̟͍̮̫̰̮͚̏̽͌̉ͥ̉ͭ́͝a̝͉̫̯͇̫͛́̽̽̽ͮ̏͋̌̈̒̚̕͞͡͡ ̡̝̩̠͈̦̼͈̘̪̬̪̭̝̜̯̃͑ͪͬ͋ͯ͆͆̈́̃̌ͥ͞͞ẁ͋̇̒ͯͩ͆ͤ̿̋͗̽͗̇͏̷̻̣͖̼̰͝

.

.

All Death Eaters jolted as if they were struck with their own curses, and most of them died on the spot.

A pause before Riam sighed.

Blood dripped down from the corners of his lips and from his ears.

"Master Harry would be very disappointed with me if he saw this."

One of his followers scoffed. "Last time I heard, you were just closest besides himself and his children that spoke that much True Tongue. You did exceptionally well, sir. I'm sure His Highness would be proud of you."

Riam grunted, too tired to respond with words.

"Expelliamus, Reducto, Avada Kedavra-"

.

.

.

a̟̥͈̠̹͙͖͉̙̻͚̋͌ͨ̒̒ͫ̑͑̉̈́̏̿̌̑ͨ́͡ş̛̰̙̭͎͇̿̌ͯ̎̔ͯ̔͐̀ͬ͊ͤ͗̅͑̚͜i̶̧͆̌̇̉ͫ҉̡̹̤͖͎̠̲̮̕f̢̝̣͈̻̙̹̦̩̥̰͖͙̗͖̑͛̽ͮͧ̑ͬͥ̑ͨ̽̽ͪ̈́ͫ͗͑̀͟ͅb̷̮͓̪̩̦͒͛͋͑ͯ̈ͮ̏͛a͓̠̦̫̣̹̤̙̰̲̺͖͔͑̓̿̐̿̏͜͞ͅf̨̮͚͉͍͉̼̭̺͚̠͙͚̥̙̣̲̟͚̂̍ͯ̑̃̅̈̍̉ͦ̍̚̚̚͞ ̵̞̘͉̞̲̻̟͙̣͉͎̰̫̲̜͈͙͓̾͊ͥ̄̈́̊͐̓͆̅͊̏ͩ̽̆̾̃ͯͣ͠à̶̶̭͎̘̦̼̯ͮ̅̀͊ͣͅź̵̡̗̞̣̙̠͙̫̼̹̬̗͈̲͍̮͆͂̑͗̆͆͡s̷̸̢̨̹̻̩̞̘͕̲̘͈͕͚̪ͯͣ͛̃,̸ͦ̎͌̓̀̓ͦ̒͛ͭ̎ͤ̐͊͒͗̚͏̻̥͚͚͇̟̯̖e̶̙̟̭̖̤͔̞͕̺͙̳̊̈́ͫ̌̀ͩ̔ͩ̊͂ͭ̋́͂ͦ̓͗̌͊͢ ̢͙̝̫̰̹̣͇̺͉͍̫͖̹̗̲͍̼̮͖̑̐͋̔̈͗̇̆ͪ̓ͫ̔́ͬ̑̊́͘l̷̡̡͙̬͙̫̬̮̞̣̻̤͖̘̻͈̪̂̏͆̾͗ͯ̃̿̾͜E̓ͪ͊̋̂̓̚͜͏͚̠͚̠͘ů̶̷̡̟̞͎͓̙ͭ̏̏ͧ͂̒̊͌̔̾͌̑ͨ͝b̴̨̳̜͉̝̳̱̻̟̞̦͙̭ͬ̎̃ͮ̈̾̊͒̈̄ͨ͂̏̓͗ͬ̂̚ ̽̒ͫ͊̾́͏̨̫̱̼̤̹̰͈̫̟̳̙S̴̢͙̭̻̼̣̀̔͌ͮ̎ͧ̾̾̆ͫ̑̉̆̏̄͗́͢͞D̳͙̯̱̭͔̙̠̺̖͑̾͋͗ͭ͊̄ͬͥ͛ͦ̍̍̃ͥ̔͌̚̕͢ͅͅ,̬̜̰̰͕͉̲̻̌ͤ̒̔̚͜͞͠h̸̵̨̫͚̦ͭ̊̏͂ͥ͘͝ͅf͆ͩ̌ͤͯ͏̧͏̡̦̩̪̼͖̹͙̜̱̟̣̫͉̤̦̯̗̘̪ ̵̢̞͈̹͔̫͍̟̦͉̘̖̳̤̠͉́̊̒̓̈́͢͞a̛̘̟͚͙͖͔͙̮̠̰ͦ̋̍̀ͪ͗̿͊̒͊̑̒ͨ̿͗̍̄̀́͢l̡͙̱̮̳̩̫͈̣̺͈̹̽͒̃̉̔̾͊̉̿̅͐̓̾ͨ́͝͞ͅk̶̙̺͈̬̼̱͎̰ͬ̆͊ͬ̀͝͝ ̊ͩ̄ͫ͒̿͊̍̑̂͛̑̃ͥ̈͐̈͏̠̖͈͎̤͇̰̜̯͈̝̖̳̹́͟͝ͅş̶̵̡̹͇̱̗͇̫̳͇̖̗̳͓̠̥͌͋̐̿ͯ͗̀̋ͬ̓͂͌ͭͧ̍͝ͅe̛̙̱͈͉̽ͨ̃̆̏̓ͪ̄̃́͜h̢̙͍͙̫̩̭̫̬̹̩ͥͦ̃̔̅̐͌̀̽ͭ͒ͫ̓̄͘͟͟d̵̟̰̬̯̫̯̤̩̮͔̳̹͖̩̼̼̺̱͌̒͛͌̊ͬͪ̔̉̃̃͟͡͞ ͈̞̭̩̭̯̙̪͍̲̭̣̬͉͇̫̍͑̒͐́̕͟k̸̵̮̯͎͇̱̮͍͇̠͓̞͕̥͖̊̉̒ͯ̇͑̅̿̉ͭ̈̋̀͟͡f̡̍̋̓̅͂ͥͥ̄͌̑̽͊̆͢҉̹͈͖̳̖̩̪̟̦̜́ͅͅ ̗͕̞͈͚̦ͣ̆ͥ͌̂ͨ͒̇̿̈̿̆ͬͦ̑ͯͯͦͭ͠

.

.

A white shield sprung up and deflected the incoming spells, including the Killing Curse.

"...So you do speak the True Tongue," a voice said from the shadows.

"Show yourself," Riam demanded even as he bled from his eyes.

"...I think not. Reducto, reducto, bombarda, ankjui, _ssisisissisi_ , encarlodia, bombarda maxima!"

The spell chain struck the shield again, but it held with no visible change to Riam.

"I see. It takes a great toll to cast, but once up, it doesn't cause more damage to the user..." the voice muttered loud and clear. "Splendid. This is much more information than the mountains of books it took me to learn that the True Tongue existed."

Riam sneered as did the rest of the cultists.

The same cultist that stopped a reducto in the earlier fight snarled and pulled out three black daggers. He flung them, and they disappeared as soon as they left his hand.

"PROTEGO MAXIMA!"

A transparent blue shield popped up from the other side of the street in an alley, completely opposite from where the last spell chain had been thrown from.

The shield lit up thrice in quick succession.

"...Near instant teleportation of projectile weaponry and illusion cover up its true movement. It seems that a worthy fight has come to me for once," Voldemort declared as he dropped the shield and came out to the light.

The civilians cowered behind the cultists while the cultist themselves frowned.

"Ain't this a bit too easy?" one of them asked out loud.

Voldemort blinked.

"What?"

Riam grinned.

.

.

s̷̡͕̥̙̥͔̘̞̼̟̃͂ͥ̊̾ͫ͌̍ͭ̅͊̊͗̓h̷̗̬͎̥̘̞̪̫͉̮̩͈͇̩͇̿ͨ͒͋ͨ͒̐a̡̹̞̹̙̜̥̥̣͚͇̹͙̫̠̗̠͙͋͆̈̔ͪ̽ͫͬ́̃̀̕͞ͅĺ̸͍̜ͤ͐ͭ̌̐̍ͪ̅ͣ́͢͜uͭ̏̇̓̂̍̐͢͏̹͙͈̟̲̜̪̺͖̼̳ ̡̾ͮ͗͋ͬͩ̆ͩ͐̍͏̴̛̩̗͕͉͍͖̝͙͈̗̹ͅy̛̯̱̤͎̥̜̜͔͈̿̐̎̃̐͟͝ö̷̡̢͉̻̤̜̹̤̫͚̪̹̱̜̜̱̯͖̹̮́̓̃ͯ̐͒̂͑́ͫ̐̑̀̚̚͟ͅl̄̊ͣ͌̐̅͑̉̂̅ͪͨ̆ ̴̵̠̬͓̻̾͐̀͂̂̈̉̀͢͢ͅṅ̴̴̸̻̼͇̬̯̼̦̭̑͛̌̀̈́̌ͥͨ͛̽͝r̴̢̆̄ͩ̀̉̒̊̓̒̓̍̎̓̓̍ͮ͆̀̚҉̹̩̭͚͉̣v̵̢̱͖̫ͯ̋̐̇ͯ̒́̎̎ͥ͡͡e̡̛̞̘̬͙͈͈̺͓̳̜̟͉͈̻͎͉͚͚ͧ̋ͣ͑̔̓̎̚͟ͅç͕̝̝̳̜̯̙̄͑̐ͣͨ͊̚͢͞͡ͅ ̧̮̺̪̯͆͆̑̊ͬ̄ͬ̔͊͆̀ͭͯͨ̔ͯ̇̊͞͞͡ͅa̷̛͓̰͎͓͚̭̰̦ͥ͛̍́͛̃̇ͪ̄̽ͬ̚͘͝͠pͧͯ̽ͦ͋̑͛ͮ̎̍̒ͭ̎ͧͦͧ͏̱͈͎͇̰̘̺̪̫̀ͅͅe̛ͨ̂ͬ̋̍̑̔ͮͮ͐̅́̀ͯ̃̋͒҉̢̨̭̩̙̤̬̯̘̦̩̣̗ͅv̴̛̝̼̟̐ͥ̃ͨ̐͊̉ͧ̏͞

.

.

Then he spurt out a glob of blood, forcing him to his knees. Or he would've if he hadn't been supported by the cultists by his side.

And Voldemort?

He blew up.

"Yeah," Riam groaned as he dispelled the shield he had conjured. "Easy."

Everyone could hear the sarcasm.

* * *

Voldemort's sudden death reached the halls of Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic. They were quick to rejoice.

However, the fight between Riamian Cultists and Death Eaters had been seen by the entirety of Mundane London and recorded by too many cameras to be covered up.

It took less than three hours after the end of the fight for the video of it was uploaded to Youtube, and eye witnesses were taken in by the British government.

Two hours after that, the Riamian Cultists used the internet to proclaim the existence of the magical world.

Five hours after that, they were being escorted willingly to talk to the media.

In less than six hours after arriving in London, Riam and his cultists had thrown the world into a chaos.

* * *

And Harry?

He observed all of it from his home surrounded by his children and other cultists.

"And that," he said as he turned off the TV. "Is why tying ourselves down to the 'law' and 'order' of those wizards and witches is unwise. They are weak and will never achieve the true heights of what a Freak could be. Merely interacting with them causes our mind to curb, for it is our nature as social creatures to accept the norm of the majority as our own. Mark my words. Riam and his followers will soon become weak. He will lose the ability to speak the True Tongue. Before long, he will be just barely more powerful than the wizards and witches.

"Mark my words..."


End file.
